Ghosts

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 22nd November 2005

Characters: Firsa
Description: Firsa remembers her life with Daremek
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 8, day 19 of Turn 3

Firsa closed the door quietly behind herself and stared at the rough grain of the wood, her hand still on the brassy knob. It was as dark as pitch, as dark as the inside of a dragon, since they were so far underground. A perfect darkness that the night dreamed of being. It was the dark of the belly of the world. After a moment, she turned to light the glow she kept on a small table by the door and turned to face her room.

This was the room that she had been assigned when she'd made Junior Journeyman. Two days after she'd walked the tables Daremek had arrived at the Weyr, his nose frostbitten and his hair tousled by wind and travel. He specialized in runners just as she did, but he worked on their health and disease and studied diet and blacksmithing while she gentled them to her hand and made eager to work. That was the turn her own runner's dam, Trellis, had been foaled. Rainy was now four turns old.

Her walls were covered in bright blankets to ward off the chill of stone. Most of those she'd accumulated over the years on her own, using marks scraped together from her meager Crafter's salary and as barter gifts from friends. She kicked the boots from her feet, careful to keep from tracking mud into her home, and sat on the edge of her bed. There was a quilt on the wall whose mosaic of fabric picked out the shape of a runner, running. It was a gift from Daremek, given to her on the fifth birthday she'd had after his arrival. An outlandishly expensive gift for a friend, but this was the room he'd given it to her in, and this was the room where their relationship had changed.

That was the chair she'd sat in when she'd unwrapped her gift, and he'd leaned over and kissed her when she looked up in surprise and confusion. This was the bed he'd led her to, over and over again, where she'd curled around him and buried herself in his scent and his arms to chase away demons and the night. To chase away the loneliness she'd felt ever since she'd been shipped off to the alien Weyr. That was the desk he'd tripped over when he'd moved in, breaking his toe, and that was the padded chair she'd sat in when her sprained wrists, gained when she'd been thrown from a runner, had prevented her from going to work. Daremek had brought her soup and bubbly pies and had fed her since she couldn't hold a spoon. She smiled, seeing him there in her mind as clearly as she had that day. He'd spilt most of the soup down her front since they were both laughing.

This was the room where they had argued, over nothing, over trivialities, over broken promises and lies. Daremek worked late and woke her up when he came in, and so she'd be crabby and tired when it was her turn to crawl from between the soft blankets and furs a few candlemarks later. She never wanted to go out, finding the pressures and expectations of socializing a burden, but was jealous when he went out without her and left her alone. He ate crackers in bed and broke wind loudly and came back drunk, or drunk himself insensible right here in this room, and would want to touch her or would fall asleep half way through, or would get sick and their room would reek of vomit for the next few days. She wouldn't say a word to him for days on end because of it, or sometimes for no reason at all.

This was the room he'd taken her back to when she'd walked the tables a second time to earn her Senior Journeyman's knots. They'd both been drinking this time, high on shared achievement and pride. He had rediscovered every inch of her skin and claimed it as his own as she lay helpless beneath him, and afterward, as she lay in his arms and listened to his heart beat, she wished she would die then, because she knew that she'd never be happier, or more content.

This was the room where Daremek had told her that he'd applied for a transfer back to the Beastcraft Hall. He was stagnating, he said, and wanted to gain his Mastery. There was a Master at the Hall who had volunteered to take him under his wing and teach him what he needed to know. Would she come with him? Firsa closed her eyes and lay back on her bed. She'd said no, not if she couldn't practice her Craft, not if her hard earned knots would be ignored, and she would lose everything that she'd created for herself. He said he loved her, she said the same. They'd screamed at each other and she'd thrown a book at his head, and he went around with a bruise above his eye until the day he left.

This was the room she'd sat in, heartbroken, as Daremek kissed her goodbye. She didn't see him off, didn't want to watch as dragonwings carried him from her just as easily as they'd brought them together.
This was the room where she'd cried until she was done, and would never cry again. This was the room where she'd lived with his ghost every waking moment, and dreamed of him when she was asleep.

The Beastcrafter opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. It was rough, unfinished stone, and she and Daremek used to lie on her bed and pick out shapes. There was a hoof pick and a crooked knife and a tunnelsnake without legs, and the buck-toothed silhouette of the old drudge who did their laundry. They'd always laughed at that one, but the thought didn't produce the hollow ache that it once did. She stared at the ceiling until her eyes began to hurt. Maybe it was time to move on.

Last updated on the November 22nd 2005

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Ghosts